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WHO: Lestat and Cassidy
WHERE: Heropa, a stretch of bars near to the beach
WHEN: Evening, mid August
WHAT: An attempted mugging on a drunken Cassidy doesn't go so well for the mugger when a third party gets involved
WARNINGS: Vampiiiiiires! So, blood and such, also possible mentions of drugs and booze and the like.

[Late into the night near the coastline of Heropa, there's a lone figure shuffling his way from one bar to the next, drunken, possibly high and most definitely unaware (or at least uncaring) of his surroundings.

He's a mess of a man, honestly, looking like he's collected his clothing from various thrift shops and garbage piles throughout the land with little consideration for sizing or gender conformity. Most would call it a mess, but there's probably a handful of fashion blogs and hipsters somewhere in America that would herald him as a fashion icon. He's coated in tattoos, has a half smoked cigarette hanging jauntily from his lips, and looks like he hasn't eaten a proper meal in days. And while he doesn't exactly look like a man with much money, he looks like easy enough pickings for those with a keen eye for that sort of thing. Easy to rob, probably wouldn't even remember it come morning.

There's one such guy who's there to try his luck, cutting off the drunkard in a secluded part between two bars, a gun pointed steadily and the usual unoriginal demands for money and valuables. In return Cassidy's calm and steady, placating with slurred words as he makes a lazy movement to reach for what may be his wallet, but struggling with the coordination aspect of it all.

And then everything unravels very suddenly. The attacked becomes the attacker, throwing himself at the gun toting villain in a haphazard body slam, the gun goes off and then there's just the two of them, standing there trying to wrestle control over each other without much headway being made... It's... kind of an embarrassing mess for both parties...]

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[ And Lestat's first thought upon taking notice of the pitiful scuffle is that the whole mess sounds like an easy meal. What? He's not above being lazy now and then. So sue him (as the wonderfuly pithy modern saying goes). He is capital-D Depressed. The entire world should thank him for climbing out of his coffin every sunset still looking so goddamned suave.

These and other thoughts are prowling around Lestat's mind as he swoops into the — well, let's be generous and call it a fray. He's a blur of motion too quick for mortal eyes to track, coming down from the roof of a bar and lighting near them without a sound. He grabs the gunman by the back of the neck as easily as one might scruff a disobedient kitten, baring his teeth; Lestat is entirely prepared to finish this unfortunate soul and take the second for a dessert and a light buzz when he realizes just what he's dealing with.

And here he pauses, staring at this drunkard over the struggling mortal's shoulder, his fangs inches from a bared throat. Violet sunglasses slip down the bridge of his nose. ]

I'm sorry, was this yours?

[ He's decidedly not impressed, for the record. ]

[Even with immortal eyes, Cassidy's not exactly sure what the fuck is going on, but then again he's not exactly the speediest vampire around when it comes to reflexes. The booze and drugs probably don't help either. Still, one moment he's wrestling with a guy, the next he's left standing there staring at some fancily dressed ponce trying to rip the gun toting criminal's throat out.

There's a slow blink to process it all as he lifts a hand to idly finger at a sting in his shoulder, only to dawn on the fact that the gun shot from earlier had in fact hit him, and he was bleeding all over his perfectly great Goodwill shirt. As if the night could get any worse.]

Y-yeah, actually! I had this under control, mate, alright? Didn't need you sweepin' in like some shite Jane Austen Batman. Now c'mon up out the way, before you poke someone's eye out with those things. [Those... fangs... Beat.] Are those real, like?

[ Jane Austen Batman! Now that's cleverer than he would have given this fellow credit for, just looking at him. (And it's what Lestat gets for pairing florals with a sequined leather jacket.) He laughs, delighted and hungry, his eyes fixed on the blood trickling down from that gunshot wound soaking crimson all over that hot mess of an ensemble. Distinctly not anything mortal. ]

Want to try them and find out?

[ A sharp grin, and he releases the flailing criminal with a friendly shove toward Cassidy. Just to see how "under control" he has it. ]

[At least the gunshot wound doesn't seem to be debilitating Cassidy beyond a slight wince of pain, and that's mostly because he won't just leave it alone. See wound, must poke. Pokepokepoke. Idle poking aside, he's incredibly fixated on Lestat's teeth right now, brows furrowing in some deep thought as he considers the possibility of those pointy lil' teethies. He's almost on the verge of delving deeper into the concept of what they could be when he's got a scrambling mugger shoved back towards him, and it's honestly just too much to deal with for his tired, inebriated brain.

Not really ready for it, this just turns into another hot mess of limbs, Proinsias making a grab for the guy and taking a flailing fist right on the gunshot wound, and then another haphazardly smacking him across the face.]

Ow! Shite! Would you-- [He's doing his best to get those arms under control, but this guy is big and pretty damn intent on self-defence, vs a drunkard who's mind just isn't in it right now. And so really it's no surprise when the guy throws another elbow at Cass' face and tries to make a run for it.] I wasn't ready! You didn't warn me, alright?!

Edited 2018-08-19 12:35 (UTC)

You said you had it under control!

[ Lestat's laughing again, watching it all happen — he can't stop himself, this entire thing is just too good. His grin is manic, and he looks from the fleeing mugger (ungainly, but adrenaline will take a human far) back to the other vampire. Steps right up next to him. Goodness, he is drunk. ]

Well, my friend, I'm afraid that's the end of my limited generosity. I'm invoking the ancient rite of dibs.

[ He smacks Cassidy on the shoulder in a way that might be friendly if not for the obvious gunshot wound he's ignoring. And if not for the way he licks the stray blood from his fingertips afterward, like it's a light snack as he watches the mugger get a doomed head start. ]

[This guy is... odd. Even aside from the fruity clothing (although Cassidy does have his eye on that jacket, maybe he can raccoon it away at some point), he just appears to be taking a little too much enjoyment from all this chaos and pain.

He hisses out a soft gasp at that shoulder pat, and then watches, nose scrunched as Lestat brings those bloody fingers to his lips. See, normal people don't just taste other people's blood, that's weird. That's crazy territory right there, and despite the fact said fleeing mugger did just shoot him, Cassidy can't help but feel enough of a conscience to turn and shout after him.]

Jaysis Christ, keep runnin'!

[And with that Cassidy decides to take off too, full sprint after the guy, surprisingly speedy and coordinated despite the heavy levels of alcohol in him, but he's always been a high functioning alcoholic. Whether he's running after the mugger or away from Lestat is up for debate, but he's thoughtful enough to shout over his shoulder;] Sorry, mate!

[It's a pity he doesn't have super speed or flying or teleporting going for him, nope, just a normal human running speed here.]

[ Lestat, on the other hand, is a goddamned cheater. It's only fair, really; cruel fate saddled him with all these gifts he never asked for, so he might as well use them to his advantage. It takes less than one invisible second for Lestat to move, and whoosh: there he is on the sidewalk in front of Cassidy. ]

Now you're just being rude.

[ He sticks his arm out, either to stop him or clothesline him. ]

[Cassidy hadn't exactly gotten very far, but he's no match for speedy over here. One minute he's running at full pelt, sparing the briefest of glances over his shoulder, the next he's on the ground, writhing around at the force he fell with (also his shoulder still hurts a whole fucking lot). At least while on his back he has the time to find out what he just run into at full force and... oh, it's that guy.]

How did you-- ah, shite, nevermind, Pretty Boy. As you were.

[God damn superheroes with all their fancy powers. In fact he's grumbling something similar to himself as he lazily attempts to push himself to his feet, one hand waving drunkenly towards the mugger slowly gaining distance.] Yer criminal is gettin' away, can't be much of a hero without a baddie to chase.

Good lord, is that what you think of this vile display?

[ Lestat, in his considerable, considerable vanity, weighs "Pretty Boy" as a pejorative and decides that he likes it, as far as those things go. He likes the weary resignation in it, the acquiescence to his general attractiveness; yes, he is pretty, thank you so much for noticing. His mouth curls into a grin, still mean but less viciously so now. Without so much as a glance at his fleeing dinner, he offers a hand up.

What? He's a monster, not a monster. ]

I can't be much of a hero at all, my inebriated friend. I had designs on making you my dessert when I heard that pathetic scuffle. You're still bleeding, by the way, did you know that?

[And Cassidy has enough decency to accept that hand from Pretty Boy, because yes, that's what Lestat is. His good looks can be appreciated separately from his crazy guy antics, although he's not really helping his case by referring to Cass as dessert, even if the term does get a lip curl of vague amusement. He sure would like to see that be an attempt made.]

Yeah, I just need... [He's back to prodding at the bullet hole, wincing the entire time as he gazes off at the retreating figure a little forlornly. Should have thought about the whole blood situation before he so readily let his shooter run off. Lestat's right here in front of him, but he's so far not done anything deserving of being eat and also he's weird. And pretty. And...] You're not human, are yeh?

[ Oh, it's nothing, really; their mugger won't get far on foot, and if he does, what would he do about it? Lestat fights the urge to pull Cassidy's hand off his own neck until, with the most patronizing tenderness, he takes the cuff of the other vampire's sleeve, tugs it gently away, and holds it between thumb and forefinger, suspended. ]

What was your first clue?

[Very gently, trying not to wake any metaphorical bears in this dark pathway, Cassidy keeps a light pressure on trying to pull his arm down. Not enough to win any arm wrestles here, but enough to suggest that's his and he'd like it with him, thanks. He might even stop fiddling with his wound, but maybe not.

His attention is far more interested in Lestat though, a shapely eyebrow arched upward in a mix of curiosity, and trying to figure the very difficult question presented to him like it's entirely genuine and not at all mocking.]

The uh. The fangs. Bit of giveaway there, mate. And the whole eatin' folk thing you're leanin' maybe a little too heavily on. [Give him a second, because he almost doesn't want to say this word but;] Are you a vampire?

[ Lestat, who is now far more entertained than hungry even with that blood so tantalizingly close, lets Cassidy struggle awkwardly for a moment. Establishing some kind of pecking order, maybe. Finally, he pats that hand gently and lets it go. No more poking now, that's a good boy. ]

Are you? Because in defense of my incredibly blatant display back there, most of us are more observant than you.

[ So, casually: ] Fun night?

[Just conveniently passing over the initial question, instead opting for an indignant huff at the his lack of observational skills.]

It was, actually, yeah! Havin' the time of my bloody life before I got shot and clotheslined, those things tend to put a dampener on a good time if yeh hadn't noticed.

[Sniff! Aaaand his blood soaked hand starting to creep instinctually back to his shoulder wound.] 'least you could do is buy me a drink. Or five.

[ An eyebrow raise, teasing. ]

How forward. [ He considers grabbing that hand again. He just might, if it drifts any closer to the wound. ] Is that as distracting for you as it is for me?

It bleedin' hurts, if that's what you're askin'. [He takes the hint though, and drops his hand before it finishes the journey, shoving it into his tight jeans pocket instead. The pain, and the constant reminder of it thanks to Lestat, is enough for Cassidy to stare off glumly into the distance in the wake of the mugger.]

S'fine. I got some healin' juice back at home. [His magical elixir of life, that is the amazing healing juice.] You just out here at night to belittle fellas for getting shot, eh?

Stalking rooftops, thwarting villainy, all your typical Batman pastimes. [ He doesn't really know what Batman does. Does he turn into a bat? He'll research this later. ] I was out at the bars too, actually.

[ He's still wearing a string of tacky green beads around his neck. There's your proof. He doesn't move much, just a little tip of his head as he shifts his glance to follow Cassidy's. He can hear the man's panicked thoughts blocks away, like snatches of a distant radio. ]

I could still go get him, if you really want a drink. To make up for the insulting things I've said and some of the ones I'll say later.

[God, he's not even going to touch that attempt at Batman explanations, it's best for both of them if he doesn't get into a nerd rant right now. Or ever. His mind is still lingering on that mugger anyway, Lestat's query tugging at his conscience and triggering a ceaseless battle of inner demons. There's that one small voice trying to elbow it's way to the forefront, screaming for blood no matter the cause or cost, but Cassidy's soon tucking it away once more with a shake of his head.]

Nah, I reckon the gobshite's learned his lesson well enough. [Although a lopsided shrug aggravates his shoulder enough to have him hissing lightly, that naughty little voice of his charging to the front of his mind once more.] Just keep an eye out for an alley cat, I 'spose.

[And with that he's beginning a slow shuffle back towards civilisation, apparently expecting Lestat to join him as he's already started chatting.] So, how'd you know? You got some sorta kin sense or some bollocks?

[ Lestat is decidedly not the sort of vampire who needs an invitation to do anything. It's a good thing Cassidy seems to have assumed as much (or at least he doesn't care) because he would have tagged along regardless. It's loneliness and curiosity and the need for something to do besides wallow and deny that he's wallowing.

But Lestat doesn't answer the question. He doesn't hear the question. He's hung up on alley cats, and his ears are ringing faintly, and he's wondering what kind of vampire would turn down fresh human blood in exchange for vermin. Well. He knows one kind. ]

Really. Junk food? You know that stuff's terrible for you, it's no wonder you're so helpless.

[ He shoves his hands roughly into the pockets of his leather jacket, and hopes he doesn't ruin his perfectly believable presentation of nonchalance by sounding bitter. ]

[For once his assumptions are correct that he'd be followed, and Cass' is glad for it. If they truly are both as they say they are then there's so much that could be explored, so many questions to ask, so many stories to share. Cassidy's met a few vampires back home, sure, but they're few and far between, limited in number and frequently in hiding thanks to some rather aggressive hunter groups always on the prowl. His interaction with others of his kind has always been limited, and with humans and their habit for dying, he's found life can be a rather lonely existence.

Already Lestat's got Cassidy rolling his eyes, nose scrunching as he sneers out his pure confusion.]

Wh- what are you even on about with this junk food shite? We're all made of the same stuff, mate, don't matter where it comes from. Cat'll do just as good on this- [A thumb jabbing towards his gunshot.]- as any person would, 'least this way I know the only life I'm wastin' is that of a poor little sod who'd end up under the wheels of a car or off in some kill shelter soon enough.

Is that really what you think? Blood's blood, and it's all the same? I mean, have you tried?

[ He can't really be offended by the eyeroll, not when this poor soul is so terribly terribly misguided. Grey eyes flick toward the gunshot wound again; Lestat doesn't need the blood, but he wants it so much it's distracting, an unfamiliar heartbeat pounding in his skull. His stare is decidedly predatory, but without any actual intent behind it. Like he's a housecat himself, watching. ]

Maybe the world could do with more cats and fewer thieves.

Oh aye, there's somethin' we can agree on. More cats, less criminals, that could be a political slogan right there.

[But until a poor kitty strays into their path (or honestly he'd take any animal at this point), Cassidy's resorting the numbing out the pain instead, withdrawing a generously sized but slightly crumpled blunt from his jeans pocket, and a lighter to follow it. When he next speaks, it's out one corner of his mouth, the blunt hanging out the other side as he tries to clumsily light it while walking and talking. Even with as uncoordinated as he is, it's obvious this is as common for him to do as breathing air.]

D'you not think blood's all the same? Christ, you're not one of those poser vampires are you? [Oh wait, he just needs to look at Lestat for that answer, which he does spare a quick once over. And also notices that hungry little stare at his leaking wound.] Oi, eyes up here! C'mon now, watched Gary Oldman a few too many times, huh? I get it, the fellas got an appeal, but it's all shite. It doesn't have to be like that, he gives the rest of us a bad name! It's... it's misrepresentation is what it is! If that had been about any other minority, it'd be dragged through the bloody coals.

What did you just call me?

[ No, really, he doesn't know who or what a Gary Oldman is, and Lestat can't decide whether to be incredulous or amused or actually a little bit irritated. It was one thing when he was just completely wrong about food, but implying that Lestat is anything but fully and completely himself? Insulting his meticulously kept Bon Jovi-esque vampire rockstar nonchalance? ]

I can't believe my ears. Here I am, on the streets of my very own adopted town, being viciously insulted by a half-drunk vampire who would rather get high than chase down an easy meal! And he's calling me a poseur! Me! As if I'm one of my own desperate fans!

[ "Shut the hell up out there," comes a voice from a third story window. Lestat ignores it, but he does lower his voice back to a normal level. ]

I'd accuse you of envy if I thought you had the good taste for it. Were you this indifferent when you were mortal?

[Cassidy practically gets whiplash from how hard his eyes roll, head jerking back in frustration as he puffs out an aggravated, smoke filled sigh upwards.

Whoevers yelling out of their window gets a middle finger in the general direction, because Cassidy may have the moral high ground when it comes to eating people, but not when it comes to respecting people's needs at stupid o clock in the evening/morning.]

"Viciously insulted", christ, mate. Listen to yerself. Chasin' down folk isn't an easy meal, and it ain't a fair one neither. An easy meal is rockin' up at the blood bank and being handed a weeks worth of blood bags. That's easy, and it's willingly bloody given.

[Just conveniently glossing over any comment on his prior acts as a mortal, partially because he can't remember half of it and in part because that's none of Lestat's damn business!]

[ Lestat fixes Cassidy with an expression of pure manufactured moral indignation, one hand pressed over his heart to really sell the expression. He actually flutters his eyelashes. It's terrible. ]

Those are for dying people, you monster.

[With his jaw clamping tight around that blunt of his, it looks like Cassidy's ready to hit the guy for just a split second there. But those flutter of eyelashes and the clearly faked affronted look... it's... well, there's a humour to it that he can't deny, and for now diffuses the situation rather effectively.

When Cassidy replies, it's with a begrudging smirk and a soft chuckle breathed out with his words.]

You feckin' arsehole. I oughta knock your bleedin' head off.

[Affectionate threats are the most meaningful.]

I'd like to see you try, [ he says good-naturedly, and grins to show off all his nasty little fangs. It's pitifully easy to get on Lestat's good side, sometimes; just laugh at his jokes. ]

Listen, we'll go to Miami sometime, find some flashy cartel kingpin to hunt, or maybe we'll get lucky and run across a serial killer. That'll settle this ridiculous debate, you'll see. The bars down there are incredible, and my god, the nightlife! Have you ever been? We'll take my car, it's one of those where the top comes down.

[ As if it's an afterthought, when inviting a stranger on a murder vacation: ]

Lestat, by the way. Enchanté.

Cassidy. How're yeh?

[A totally casual introductory nod because he's so cool and indifferent. Except not, because even the idea of road trips and party time is enough to have him internally screaming with excitement. New things to see! Stuff! To! Do! It's letting him look over Lestat with a fresh set of eyes...

Still a poncy looking pretty boy, but one that apparently wants to spend time with Cassidy of all people! That instantly raises his higher on the ratings.]

See, now serial killers! That's one I can get behind, taste of their own medicine, like. I got no qualms in goin' for those who deserve it; murderers, rapists, kidnappers, anyone who messes with me and mine. Mate, I've eaten folk before, just don't make a habit of it, no need to. We get some booze in you and I can show you how to have a good time without rippin' throats out.

[ It's so hard to tell whether he's being propositioned and for what, but Lestat is keen to see where this night is headed either way. He huffs, sort of a laugh and sort of a scoff, and tips his head up to the sky. ]

Well, I'm relieved to hear it isn't some tedious moral objection, at least. My exhaustingly Catholic fledgling spent half a decade draining the blood from every rat in five parishes before he finally came to something like his senses. You can't imagine the pang of dread I felt when I heard you say alley cat.

[ Such ridiculous, unbearable nostalgia. Those are shark infested waters, Lestat. ]

Tell me about these nonviolent good times we're going to have.

Yeah, well, that's what you get for befriendin' Catholics.

[Don't even get him started on religion!!!! But Lestat may be heartbroken to learn Cassidy is still the kind of vampire who'd rather stay home, get stoned and slurp blood bags like they're capri suns. People hunting just isn't worth it, or ~right~ for his wonky morals.

Nonviolent good times is a way better subject matter anyway, and he considers the question with a few thoughtful puffs before finally holding the blunt towards Lestat.]

Usual plan is get drunk as hell and high as heaven, and see where the night takes me. Sometimes it's brawls, sometimes it's findin' new couches to sleep on, sometimes it's getting shot by muggers and pickin' up pretentious vampires. Does your Lordship have any preferences?

Hm. [ Is Lestat's eloquent reply, as he takes the generously offered blunt (this Cassidy, he's good people) and seems to consider it. He holds it like he knows what he's doing, at least. ]

There's always karaoke. [ Mild. Casual. It's hard to say if he's joking. ] Does this actually work, or is it an aesthetic choice?

[ Aesthetically, he inhales. ]

[Sharing is caring, especially when it comes to drugs. It's just not right to not pass them on. Cassidy's not entirely sure Mr. Fancypants knows what to do with it, but he seems to be doing an okay job of looking confident once he accepts teh weeds.]

Oh, it works. Got a bit of a resistance to 'em these days, but the trick is to just stay topped up.

[Always. Like. Just perma-high, stoned, drunk and everything in between.]

Karaoke's not a bad shout though.

[ He's a good mimic, and he learns physical things quickly, and anyway, all that aside, Lestat was human enough once to remember the motions. It's just...

He exhales a steady stream— ] Karaoke, then. [ —and passes it back to Cassidy with a sidelong, rueful smile. ]

I tried a few times, you know, with my band. [ He laughs, finding that amusing somehow. ] I don't think it made a difference, at least as far as I could tell. But then, I suppose I don't need to breathe except to talk, so I don't know what these lungs of mine get up to. They might be perfectly useless.

What d'you mean didn't make a difference?!

["My band"? That's honestly something he needs to come back to but right now he's being traumatised by the idea of not having a body that accepts certain (maybe all??) drugs.

Once he takes the offering back, he starts puffing on it like a steam train. Honestly he needs it for the second hand tragedy that's creeping up.]

Christ, man, is that for all of it or... or just smokes? I got a nice set of needles nearby, so long as your blood's pumpin', that shite will set you right.

[ Lestat pauses and tips his head, giving it a moment's consideration. ]

I don't know, I've never tried anything like that. I missed most of the best parts of the last century, so you'll have to put up with some gaps in my knowledge. Really, 1984 is the only year I can say I actually experienced in any meaningful way.

[ An easy shrug of one shoulder. If it bothers him (and, all right, it does bother him) he's certainly not going to sulk about it to a stranger. ]

Mate, you weren't missin' much. 'Cept the eighties, they weren't so bad. Lotta coke and bright colours, good music and brilliant parties.

[Cassidy's not the nostalgic sort, with a strong preference for living in the present, but he can't deny a good era when he lives through one. Speaking of drugs, he's not handing that blunt over again, he's using it for some very important self medicating against his wound.]

So how long you been... whatever y'are, if you missed an entire century out?

[Vampire, probably, but he's still not fully confirmed that's what Lestat is.]

Whatever I am? You can say it, you know, you don't have to be coy.

[ He grins sidelong, pointy teeth on display again, and elbows Cassidy. ]

Vampire, issit?

[Just, y'know, confirming for definite here as he gives Lestat a side glance and a shake of his head. Christ, this guy is a dork, but Cassidy can't resist a lopsided smirk.]

How long you been kickin' around?

Vampire it is.

I was Born to Darkness [ —and here he splays his hands at his sides just so, fingers spread wide; one can hear the capital letters in the way he enunciates, somehow self-important and self-aware at once— ] in 1780. I've been "kicking around" a while, as they say.

And you? Don't misunderstand, but you seem... recent.

"Born to Darkness", jaysus, y'know you make it really hard to like you.

[Which is a total lie, because Lestat is talking to him and therefore that means they're best friend and Cass loves him very much, but he's still rubbing his temples briefly in exasperation. This dramatic vampire act is a. lot. to process.]

Hundred and nineteen here, lord of dorkness or whatever shite for eighty nine of 'em. So. Not all that recent, mate, no.

[It sure doesn't feel "recent" to Cassidy, at least.]

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